Deck the Halls
by The Final Doctor
Summary: Winchester, Wessex, December 884 AD. The Doctor and her friends find that Christmas time is being ruined for King Alfred the Great and his people, and it's up to them to sort things out!


Below a pale grey sky, fresh winds swirled bright snow through the bare branches of a copse of oak and elm trees, adding movement to the picture postcard winter wonderland that the TARDIS crew could see on the remote viewer.

"So where are we?" asked Yaz.

"And when?" Ryan added.

The Doctor peered at an intricate set of clock faces. "England. Somewhere between - er - 5 million BC and 5 million AD." She flicked a finger irritably at one of the small dials where the needle on the dial spun freely. "Sorry I can't be more precise. The little hand is playing up a bit again." Then she grinned in delight. "Wardrobe room, fam! We're going to need some extra layers on if we're going to have a snowball fight!"

Graham raised an eyebrow at this. "Really, Doc? Snowball fights, at your age?" Ever since Graham had managed to get his head around the idea of a Timelord's multiple lifetimes and changes in in appearance, personality and gender, he'd had an endless supply of gentle jibes at the Doctor.

"One more crack about my age and you'll be off this ship, pal!" the Doctor threatened. Her infectious grin never wavered, though - and Graham's wry smile let everyone know that he was actually looking forward to a little light relief as much as anyone.

"Play nice, Gramps," said Ryan. Yaz grabbed Ryan by the elbow and the three friends headed deep into the TARDIS's mysterious interior, following the Doctor to the wardrobe room.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the crew emerged from the TARDIS into a clearing in the copse, stepping into an ankle-deep layer of fresh, crisp snow. There was a cold tang to the air, a clean smell. Flurries were eddying around the Police box "disguise" of the time ship, and thick flakes were sticking to its exterior, softening its edges and beginning to obscure its incongruity.

The Doctor had found a huge fake fur coat which she'd donned with childish delight, exclaiming that it had once been her favourite until someone had shot at her, mistaking her for a Yeti. Graham had simply added a Russian-style hat and thick leather gloves to his usual clothes, while Ryan had opted for a parka with a large "Who" logo painted on the back. Yaz looked like an advertisement for an alpine holiday, dressed in bright orange ski pants and jacket, accessorised with silvery moonboots and a multicoloured woolly hat with a pompom. She'd rejected the matching scarf though, as its absurd length would have meant she'd have looked ridiculous with it wrapped half a dozen times round her neck. They took in the sight of the empty clearing and the idyllic thicket, then bent over to gather fistfuls of soft snow. Within minutes, all four were flinging snowballs around in a joyous, chaotic moment of peace.

Right up until the moment the horse patrol galloped into the clearing.

Five pale-skinned, dark-haired human males dismounted as one with a flourish, approached the four friends, and drew their swords menacingly.

"What do we have here?" one said gruffly - clearly the leader. All five of the newcomers were similarly dressed, in warm furs and leathers, with nothing to betray who they were. "Spies, perhaps - Viking infiltrators?"

"Vikings? No, we aren't V..." the Doctor began, fumbling in the pockets of her voluminous coat.

"Quiet, woman! We are talking to your chief." The leader jabbed his sword towards Graham.

"Now hang on a minute!" Graham replied. "That's no way to talk to anyone! And who are YOU, anyway, to be questioning us?"

"I am Wulfram, housecarl to the king. As are we all. And you are trespassers in the Marwold, and dressed most peculiarly. And in the company of Ethiops and Arabs, no less! So I say again. Be you spies?"

"Who are you calling an Arab?" Ryan interjected.

"Who are you calling an - er - Ethiop?" added Yaz, sounding like she felt like she'd drawn a short straw somewhere and didn't even know what it meant.

"King? What king?" Graham riposted. The Doctor nodded in approval. Graham was trying to think quickly, and learn enough to give a clever answer - or for her to be able to.

Wulfram sneered. "Lost travellers, are we? So lost we don't even know what land we are in?"

"Something like that, yeah", said Graham.

"Then I think you had better come with us. I'm sure the king will want to advise you of where you are. And of the mighty power that is Wessex." Wulfram turned to his men. "Brice - mount up and walk your horse ahead. The rest of you, lead your horses. It seems we shall walk to Winchester today with this strange company." He sheathed his sword and once more addressed Graham. "You don't appear to be heavily armed - just dressed outlandishly. So come with us peacefully and there will be no need to kill you. Yet. My lord Alfred will be most interested in your explanation of who you are."

"Alfred!" Yaz exclaimed. "King Alfred?"

"Alfred, King of Wessex and of all the Anglo-Saxons, yes. If you thought you were under the Dane law, you have indeed wandered far." He assessed the sky, darkening from pale grey toward leaden. "Let us start - it will take us two, perhaps three hours to walk there. If the heavens do not open and the snowfall get much heavier."

Flanked by the four Saxon housecarls and their horses, and following the mounted man - Brice - in the lead, the TARDIS crew began to trudge through the snow in the direction Wulfram indicated.

Under her breath, the Doctor murmured "OK gang. Here we go. Alfred the Great. Or he will be called that, one day. No letting on what happens to England in the future, as usual. And - and this is very important - don't mention the cakes. He's a bit oversensitive about them."

"You've met him before?" asked Yaz.

The Doctor gave a rueful smile. "Sort of. He won't remember me - I was taller then, and older. Oh, and a bloke. But I just might have been a little bit responsible for him forgetting about the cakes."

"Oh that's typical, that is," said Graham. "Captured, walking into history, and YOU'VE been stirring up trouble here before."

"Just another Wednesday then," said Ryan.

Three hours later, the town of Winchester loomed indistinctly in front of them through the thickening snowfall. Ahead was a great longhouse - their destination.

"Wow," said Yaz. "I was expecting a castle - but that Hall is pretty impressive."

"You're a couple of centuries early for a castle here," the Doctor replied. "There will be a couple here eventually. But this IS the capital of Wessex, soon to be capital of England."

"The Year of our Lord 884. That's what Wulfram said, right?" said Graham. "Any terrible wars we need to be careful of?"

"Not just now," said the Doctor. "Pretty peaceful for a few years, actually. Oh and look - it's December. Nearly Christmas. They've got the decorations up." She gestured to the enormous holly wreath suspended over the heavy double wooden doors, and the trailers of ivy running down both sides of the doorframe.

"They've gone a bit over the top, haven't they?" said Ryan, as they were led in through the doors into the entrance corridor. "Nan was like that too, remember, Gramps? More decorations than walls." Evidence of preparation for celebrations seemed to be everywhere. The walls and ceilings, in the flickering lights of braziers, were not just festooned but smothered in holly and ivy, so much so that the walls themselves were practically invisible. The doorways too.

"Yes," answered Graham, fond memories lighting his eyes and smile. "Grace loved her decorations, alright. But this is bonkers!"

They reached the centre of the great hall. A vast roaring fire occupied a pit in the centre, and in a heavy chair beside it, a frail looking man in heavy furs was warming himself. He looked up and addressed his captain.

"Wulfram. What on Earth have you managed to bring me THIS time?" His gaze, keen for all his apparent ill-health, moved appraisingly across each of the TARDIS crew.

"Your Grace, I bring you visitors from" - he shot a slightly disbelieving glance at the gang - "Rome. This is the Doctor, who says she is an emissary of the Pope, and not a Danish spy at all. Graham O'Brien, a Hibernian. And Ryan and Yaz, who would have you believe they are Phoenician sailors." The words "I don't believe a word of this" didn't quite pass his lips, but every line of his face affirmed his scepticism.

"Ah, Wulfram. What a rare and frankly unwanted gift you have brought me," Alfred said bitterly.

"The coming Yuletide is going to be a miserable one, with so many missing their children. The Danes continue to vex me despite the treaty being hammered out that will formally divide Mercia between Wessex and East Anglia, I'm planning with your fellow nobles how we can retake London, my gut is plaguing me with pain again, and on top of this I have to deal with four mad foreigners?"

"Your Grace," said the Doctor. "I bring you greetings from his Holiness Pope Marinus, and …"

But Alfred was surging to his feet, and pointing his arm at the Doctor. "Marinus? You are no such thing. Admit it! You're in league with the grendels!" he accused.

The Doctor was taken aback. "Grendels? GRENDELS?"

"Yes, grendels - hideous monsters like the one out of the song of Beowulf, that raid our homes and steal and eat our children!"

"Woah, let's take a minute here. First off, we've got NOTHING to do with that. Nothing. We only just got here, didn't we, guys?" The other three nodded furiously in agreement. "And no, Lord Wulfram, I'm NOT a Dane. I'm Eirann - Irish - a Hibernian. Like my man Graham. Blonde hair means nothing - we were invaded by the Norsemen as well, you know.

"And we've sailed here straight from the Vatican, in Yaz and Ryan's fast Phoenician trader, from the court of his Holiness Pope Marinus. I've got a note from him somewhere, if you've got someone that can read it to you." She fumbled about in her pockets, and took out a long, slim object wrapped in a soft linen cloth.

"Is she going to sonic him?" Yaz muttered to Ryan. "Please tell me she's not going to sonic him."

The Doctor unwrapped the object, revealing a thin sliver of dark wood. "This is my best credential, though, your Grace. A gift for you from the Pope himself. A genuine Holy relic for you, to cement your place as a great and pious king, deserving of the very best. A piece of the True Cross." She passed the wood to Alfred, who examined it with a strange mix of suspicion and reverence.

Yaz gave the Doctor an accusing look.

"No, honest," the Doctor muttered, "that's what the man who gave it to ME said it was, and he was a Cardinal, so let's just go with it, eh?"

"The True Cross?" Alfred repeated. "What wood is this?"

"Cedar, I think," the Doctor replied. "Yes, cedar. One of the three woods the Cross was made from. Some of it was pine and some was cypress. But your bit - your GENUINE BIT OF THE TRUE CROSS - is cedarwood."

"The True Cross," Alfred repeated quietly, again. He straightened. "This is a magnificent gift indeed, Doctor. You are a friend of this court, an emissary of the Pope, and all will pay you respect. Wulfram! ALL will pay the Doctor and her companions respect, do you hear me?"

"Yes, your Grace. Respect," Wulfram replied through gritted teeth.

"Now," the Doctor said. "Let's get back to the real problem here. Grendels. What do you mean, grendels? What's going on here?"

"Follow me." Alfred said, and led the way to a far comer of the great hall where three women were looking after a small fenced-in area filled with - small children. Children? These creatures had golden skin and pointed ears. Beautiful, but not human.

"Behold!" said Alfred. "Our latest tragic burden. Left to us by the grendels."

"Oh wow," said the Doctor. "This I've got to hear."

"It began about three months ago, when an omen star crossed the sky," Alfred began. "Small babies under one year in age began to disappear from all the hamlets around, and even from Winchester itself. Taken by hideous monsters - the grendels. And now they are returning to us these - these changelings - in their stead!" He gestured to the little ones in the pen. "As if we would not notice! What are we to do with these? Kill them? Or nurture these - demons?"

Ryan had reached down and picked up a small child, and was making faces at her. She was giggling. "Demons?" he said. "Nah. They're cute. Aren't you? Weird but cute, yes!"

Alfred shot him a dangerous glance. "Perhaps you want to take them all away, back to your Eastern lands? It might be the best solution - if we can agree a price, of course."

Ryan hurriedly put the child down. "Er - no, no. I don't think so."

Alfred resumed his speech. "All the festivals are doomed, this year; Yule, and Sol Invictus, and the commemoration of the birth of Christ, all are tainted by the loss of so many of our children since the omen star fell to Earth.

"Only the holly and ivy protect the people, for the grendels find its touch searing and flee from it. There are other protectives - grendels cannot stand to be pierced by cold iron - " ("Who can?" Graham muttered, under his breath) "- and rubbing oneself in goat dung is said to be effective, but no one wants to try it.

"For those without the wealth of a sword or the ability to wield it, nothing beats the efficacy of a wooden club wreathed in holly. We learned this from Lynet, here." One of the childminders bobbed her head at the mention of her name.

"What happened?" the Doctor asked.

Lynet, a girl of about sixteen, stammered nervously. "Lady, I was in my home preparing bread. I heard a noise from the back of the house where I'd laid my newborn - Rowena - and I saw knobbed arms - a grendel's - reaching through the walls to take her. I snatched her up and ran outside. Another grendel was standing by the door and I ran from that one too."

"What did they look like?" the Doctor asked, intently.

"A bit like people, but shorter. Sharp of face - slight but knobbed at every joint - strange bubbled skin, shining like brass."

"And like these babies?"

"Perhaps. It was dark. I was scared. We ran out into the countryside and a grendel followed me. I ran deep into a holly bush, sheltering my baby from the thorns. The grendel tried to grab Rowena but as it touched the leaves its awful face bloated and turned purple, and its skin seemed to blister and boil before my eyes! Oh, Lady, it was terrible." The girl lapsed into misery at the memories.

Alfred spoke again. "It fled, in anguish and horror. Since then we have learned that ivy has a similar effect - and so, the protective measures you see. Protecting our homes with the magical power of the holly and the ivy."

The Doctor pondered what she'd been told for a few seconds, then turned to the TARDIS crew, "Right," she said. "As soon as the snow eases up, I reckon we want a word or two with these so-called grendels. Who's with me?"

The Doctor looked around to make sure that none of the Saxons accompanying them could see what she was doing, then raised her arm, hand hidden under the end of the sleeve of the huge fur coat. An electronic warble betrayed to her companions that she was surreptitiously scanning the area ahead with her sonic screwdriver. Lifting it to her face, she glanced at its tiny, cryptic readout panel, pursed her lips and nodded sagely.

Pocketing the device, she called a local over to her. "Brice! What's that up ahead? The barrow or whatever?"

Brice followed where she was pointing. "That is an Elf Hill, my Lady Doctor."

"Has it always been there? And it's just 'Doctor', thank you very much."

"It is an ELF HILL, my Lady Doctor. Who knows how long it has been there, or how long it will be before it vanishes and appears elsewhere?"

"OK, put it another way. Was it there six months ago?"

"I do not know, my Lady Doctor." He conferred briefly with the other warriors. "We do not believe so, my Lady Doctor."

"It's just Doc – oh, what's the use? Come on then. That's what we need to look at."

Brice looked frightened. "We will not go to an Elf Hill willingly, my Lady Doctor. We might never return, or return fifty years older. They are to be avoided. They are supernatural."

The Doctor rolled her eyes. "Right then, fam. Looks like it's just us then. You coming?"

"Do we have a choice?" Graham asked.

"Course you have a choice. You always have a choice. Do you want to know what's going on? Or do you want to walk away?"

"We're coming," Ryan said. "Of course we're coming."

"'S right," added Yaz. As though there could never have been any doubt.

"Yeah, course I'm coming really," added Graham. Even if he didn't quite look like he believed it.

"Right then", said the Doctor. "Let's crack on – Elf Hill, here we come!"

* * *

They walked around the raised snowy hillock three times. Around it, animal tracks ran and diverged – but the snow on the barrow itself was untouched. Nothing marred the smooth, thick blanket of snow covering it: there was no sign of a way into the mound. But the doctor was holding a hand to her ear. "Can you hear that? No. Can you FEEL it? Subsonics. I think it's supposed to be making us feel scared and want to go away." She flashed a reassuring smile at her friends. "Not working, is it?"

"A bit," Ryan admitted.

Yaz shook her head fiercely. "It's no scarier than going on patrol round parts of Norton."

"Let's just get on with it, shall we, Doc?" Graham was trying to be matter-of-fact, but clearly was somewhat rattled.

The Doctor glanced back to make sure that the Saxon warriors were too far away to see what she was doing, and, raising her arm to the horizontal, sonic screwdriver in hand, she activated the device and waved it from end to end of the mound.

About two-thirds of the way from the north end of the mound, the air wavered. Suddenly, there was no grass covering an area about two metres across. Instead, there was a silvery metallic wall with the edges of a doorway clearly visible.

"Hologram," said the Doctor. "Combine that with the 'go away' vibe and most people would never spot the spaceship just sitting here." She stepped forward and flourished the sonic screwdriver at the doorway.

"Knock knock!" she said brightly as the sonic warbled, and the doorway slid silently aside to reveal a pink-lit metal corridor sloping downward into the hill. She waved at the others to come forward. "Coo-eee! Anyone in? Put t'kettle on!" she callked, leading the TARDIS crew into the unknown.

Behind them, the illusion shimmered and once again there was only the Elf Hill, covered in unmarked snow.

* * *

At the end of the corridor was another doorway. As they approached it, the doorway behind closed, and it slid aside. Beyond stood three golden figures: humanoid and slight, golden of skin, with pointed ears, sharp features and large, oval, violet eyes. They were wearing only purple shorts and open sandals, plus a sort of framework of rods that mimicked the general shape of a skeleton, linking bulbous joint coverings at necks, wrists, elbows, hips, knees and ankles. Their feet had four long toes: their hands, three fingers and a very long, thick thumb. There was a faint irritating, acrid scent in the air and a metallic taste in the mouths of the TARDIS crew.

"You would be the elves then?" Graham asked.

"They don't look much like the grendels Alfred or Lynet described," Yaz said.

"They're beautiful," Ryan said. "Like the babies."

"Exotic", added Yaz.

"Hello," the Doctor said. "I'm the Doctor. And you are …"

"We are the Kartishi," said the central alien. Its voice was soft and slightly liquid. "I am Parash, and I captain this vessel, who is called Fellasha. You do not appear to be natives of this area. Your technology is beyond them. Far beyond them."

"Don't be so sure about that," said Yaz. "We learn fast."

"You're right though," the Doctor said. "We're not from round here. And nor are you."

"Not elves then?" Ryan asked. He seemed almost spellbound.

"Ryan!" the Doctor snapped. "Pay attention. Breathe lighter. You're taking in their pheromones. You're getting a bit glamoured. Don't."

Underfoot, small creatures skittered about, mouselike. They avoided the TARDIS crew but were running freely over the feet of the Kartishi, who kept flicking them away with their feet, absently, perhaps subconsciously.

"You got a vermin problem?" Graham asked as he noticed them. "Those little critters are everywhere."

Parash bent over and picked one up between its thumb and fingers. When not running around, it was clear that these were very like tiny, quadrupedal versions of the Kartishi, hands and feet all balled up into fists. "These? Yes, very much like vermin. Thousands of them, everywhere. But the survivors – ah. Those, we cherish." It flung the tiny creature off into a corner. It skittered off with a tiny shriek of outrage. "They are our larvae."

"What – they're your children?" Yaz couldn't seem to quite believe it.

"Not yet," Parash responded. "Most of these will die, in competition with one another, or when we need to flush the ship. We generate them every day, a few dozen each. Those whose hands open, those who stand up, who will learn to speak - those become our children. At this stage, however – just pests."

Ryan shook his head, trying to shake off the mesmerising sensations that had been smothering him. "That's not right. They're like – you. You should take care of them all."

Parash stared at Ryan impassively. "That is absurd and untenable. We are a crew of three. We produce over a hundred larvae a day. If we tried to support all, even if only half still survived, within a year there would be twenty thousand Kartisihi young on this ship. Larvae are larvae. Competition must select the survivors. In this way our genetic heritage remains rich and strong."

Ryan couldn't get his head round this. "That's – inhuman."

Parash did not seem to understand. "We are not human."

The Doctor, who had been inspecting her surroundings while this conversation went on, reached out and stroked the wall of the chamber. Parash reached forward to pull her arm away, but seemed to stop itself with an effort. "Cupro carbons?" she asked. "It feels organic. Almost alive."

Where her hand had touched, the metal darkened for a moment, then lightened again.

Parash stepped between her and the wall. "Please do not do that again. Fallasha is – sensitive."

"Allergic, more like. You are, too, aren't you? Earth doesn't agree with you. Or your ship." She pointed at a patch of wall that was badly discoloured. Like a bruise.

"This is unfortunately true. Fellasha is – alive, in her fashion. She was badly wounded when we crash landed on this world, which we had fully intended only to study from orbit because of the toxic contaminants in its atmosphere. Until she heals, we remain stranded." Parasha seemed vaguely uncomfortable.

"We cannot leave the ship for long. We cannot wear our spacesuits and conduct the activities we must conduct – and the exoskeletons that support our joints and limbs in this tiresome gravity, do not protect from the irritants in your air, your plant life – even your skins." It reached to one side and from a small drawer that opened in the wall, drew out a what looked very much like a transparent pair of latex surgical gloves.

"We, and our ship, are allergic to most life on Earth. We have managed – at great effort – to sheathe the ship, so that she can recover. But she was badly marred before we succeeded. Whenever one of us goes outside, we are swiftly covered in boils, hives, and pustules. Some of your plants are a thousand times worse in inducing these effects. We become hideous, even to ourselves. Fortunately, we recover after a few hours in the purity of our own atmosphere. But the ship – Fellasha is not so lucky."

It beckoned the TARDIS crew to follow, and stepped slightly jerkily along to another doorway, assisted, with small electrical whining noises, by its exoskeleton. In the next room, equipment looking rather like a futuristic distillery glowed with a bluish light as something gaseous passed along and through it into the walls of the ship.

"Vital essence," Parash indicated, pointing at the gas. "Essential life force. We are infusing the ship, so that Fellasha can self repair. Not long, now. Not long." Parasha patted the bruised looking walls, fondly.

A dark suspicion arose in the Doctor's mind. "This life force. Where are you getting it from?"

Parash nodded, calmly. "Larvae."

Yaz, Ryan and Graham stared around them, aghast, at the tiny skittering creatures still running around everywhere underfoot.

"You - squeeze the life out of your own children?" Yaz gasped.

"Oh, no." Parash tilted its head to one side – at a guess, the Kartishi equivalent of a headshake. "These have far too little energy. They would die, and to no effect.

"No, we use Earth-life larvae. Human larvae."

There was stunned silence for a few moments. Then "That's MONSTROUS!" Yaz shouted, furiously. Ryan and Graham stood thin-lipped, their hands balling into fists. The Doctor stared coldly, appraisingly, at the alien.

Parash seemed taken aback. "Not at all. They are only larvae, after all. And we do not kill them. We take only a little essence from each. No harm is done." It smiled. "They have so very MUCH life energy. Humanity is a lucky species."

"No harm?" exclaimed Graham. "You're stealing BABIES!"

"Not so," countered Parash. "We're borrowing larvae. We are RETURNING babies."

"What?" the Doctor said.

"I'm gonna smash it," said Ryan. "This is all wrong." The Doctor gestured urgently and Graham grabbed Ryan by the arm.

"I'm not going to hold him off for long, Doc," Graham warned. "I'm not even going to try. Frankly, I'd rather join him."

"What do you mean, you return babies?" the Doctor asked, through gritted teeth.

Parash waved at another wall. It turned transparent, and in the room beyond half a dozen happy infants could be seen playing. Some looked normal, about 18 months old. Others – did not. Golden skin, pointed ears. Like the Kartishi.

"The extraction process accelerates the growth of the larvae," Parash stated flatly. "Once it has completed they are able to stand and speak. Additionally, our medical equipment corrects any genetic defects these infants have. They emerge much healthier and sturdier than they were in the larval stage. And since the babies are so ugly, and look so pale and ill, we are generously using our DNA mutagenic medical skills to enhance the children's appearance - giving their skin a healthy golden glow. The more elegant ears seem to go along with that – the same genes are improved."

The alien nodded, sharply. "And then they are returned to their home tribes. Healthy, happy. Better and moreover, no longer larvae, but infants to be treasured!"

"You – IDIOTS!" the Doctor shouted. "I bet you don't even know who you're returning them to, do you? Do they go back to their own families?"

Parash was puzzled. "Families? What are – families?"

The Doctor was fuming. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," she ranted. "You haven't studied this species at ALL, have you?"

"We – have not had time," Parash tried to explain. "We crashed. We needed to repair our ship. This world – to us this world is pain. We must repair Fellasha. We must get back out into space. Where in this, have we had time to study?"

The Doctor waved her arms around at the milling Karthshi larvae. "Do you even know which of these is yours?"

"Mine? What do you mean, 'mine'?"

"Which ones you personally – emitted, produced, gave birth to – whichever it is? Do you know which ones you are parent to?"

"Of course not. Why should I? The question makes no sense. I become a parent when one of these larvae grows, stands, opens its hands, and calls to me. When it is no longer a larva, and has decided to become an infant, and has decided which adult to attach itself to. Parentage – is the infant's choice. Not the adult's."

The Doctor span round and addressed her friends. "Okay folks, now I know this is bad. I think we all do. But try to stay calm, all right? It's a misunderstanding. A huge horrible, cultural misunderstanding."

"I'll give that thing 'no harm'," Graham growled. "It's taking years from these babies' lives, it's making them alien, and then it's just throwing them back at random!"

"Just trust me. Please. There will be a plan." The Doctor was pleading with them, her face filled with supplication.

"Does it involve these things getting banged up?" Yaz said, fiercely. "There has to be justice."

"Banged up?" the Doctor asked. "What do you think Alfred's men will do with these aliens if they get hold of them? They won't put them in JAIL. They'll EXECUTE them."

"Maybe that IS justice," Ryan said. "Don't sound unfair to me."

"Not only that, though," added the Doctor. "Just holding these people unprotected, away from this ship, is tantamount to a cruel death sentence. I won't stand for that."

"People," Ryan sneered. "they don't deserve to be called people after what they've done. They're monsters. Grendels."

The Doctor laughed, bitterly. "But don't you see? They don't realise they've done anything WRONG. Babies – babies that just eat, and crawl, and cry – they're not HUMAN in Kartishi terms. From the alien perspective, they've seen them as just – vermin. As pests. A resource to be used.

"They think they've been making things BETTER. For everyone."

"But they're wrong," Yaz insisted.

"Yes. Yes they are. Very wrong. And I can't fix it all – but I'll fix what I can."

"Sorry Doc," said Graham. "Fixing things isn't enough. This is EVIL."

"Maybe it is. But not every race out there has the same moral compass as you do, Graham. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is. This? This is one case where I think I can make the aliens understand that what they've done is wrong. But there are some species out there – they just don't get it. They can't – they have no CONCEPT of 'good' or 'evil'. This? This is easy, by comparison. I just need to get these dumb elves to realise where the duty of care begins here on Earth."

"They're smart enough to know better," Graham objected.

"Intelligence and ethics – especially human ethics – aren't the same thing. It's absurd to assume that all aliens can – or should – think in the same way as humans. I'm not trying to get you to see their point of view – their point of view is pretty twisted, if I'm honest – but just try to understand that they HAVE a point of view. That it makes sense, from their perspective.

"If you can't live with that – maybe you don't belong with me any more. All of you should think about that for a minute. Or a year. I'm not going to narrow my point of view to match yours, and nor is the Universe. I love you all and I want you to travel with me as long as you want to. But sometimes, you're just going to have to live with my choices. Or leave."

And with that sobering thought, she turned back to Parash. The Kartish was just standing there, quietly baffled. As though the whole debate had made no sense to it. Which it probably hadn't.

"Right, you. Point one, and this is very important. Humans do NOT HAVE LARVAE. They have maybe half a dozen children in their lives at this time, and only one in three of those will make it to adulthood because of all the disease and hardship they have to suffer. Do you get it? Every one of them is a child, not a larva. From the moment she's born, she's precious to them.

"As for your 'improvements' – whether they are really improvements, or not, is irrelevant. You're far, far too keen on casual genetic manipulation. Now, I've got no problem with you fixing a few vicious diseases and club feet, in fact thank you very much for that. But the fact is, golden skinned kids with pointy ears just DON'T BELONG on this planet." She thought for a moment, then added in a spirit of honesty "Not for the next fifteen hundred years or so, anyroad.

"So everything you've been doing – it stops. NOW. You aren't getting one more drop of 'vital essence' from these babies. And here's what we're going to do, to set things right. As right as we can, anyway."

* * *

It was a strange party indeed that returned to the Great Hall at Winchester. Yaz and Ryan were finally no longer the focus of the fascinated stares of locals – the bandage-swaddled creature in chains, being led on a chain by the Doctor, that whirred strangely as it walked behind her in a stalking manner, held everyone's attention. The horse-drawn cart Graham was leading, carrying a dozen chattering infants, seemed insignificant by comparison. A faint, acrid smell followed the group and slowly filled the room.

The Doctor and the creature halted before Alfred's chair. The Doctor looked around the Hall slowly, taking in each face. All of them seemed to seemed to be relaxing somewhat as the odour in the room reached their nostrils. "Hate using suggestibility," the Doctor muttered under her breath. "But I need them to believe, and to accept".

She turned to face the King. "Your Grace," she began.

"Doctor."

"I have been under Elf Hill, and returned with my prize – a grendel witch." There was muttering and fear among the gathered Saxons. "Don't worry – the chains control it. I command it."

She raised her voice. "Bring the changelings here! All of them!" In a few moments, it was done. The golden infants were brought forward and stood, sat or sprawled on the floor between Alfred and the Doctor.

"OK, listen up!" the Doctor called. "The grendels, it turns out, are servants of the elves. And the elves glamoured your missing children, and made them look like elves. They find their own appearance more pleasing than yours, I'm sorry to say.

"And I don't agree." So she turned to the grendel 'witch'. "So I command you now – LIFT THIS GLAMOUR!"

Still in chains, the witch stepped forward. If anyone present noticed that its strange, faerie hands seemed to be covered in fine gloves possibly coated in a sticky substance, they did not remark upon it.

The witch touched the head of each golden child in turn. As it did do, a transformation slowly came over them; their skin glow faded, skin taking on a normal pale pink colour. The tips on their ears shrank, in most cases vanishing completely.

The witch stepped back, head bowed. "It is done," it said, with soft, liquid tones.

"Take a look," the Doctor said. "All of you who have lost a child. Look at these that we have returned with from Elf Hill. Look at these that we've just taken the elf spell off of.

"They've all been taken under Elf Hill, all been under an elven spell. So they're older than when they were taken. You all know this can be true, and there is nothing that can be done to change this." Heads nodded sagely – yes, this seemed sensible and natural. At least, it did while Kartishi pheromones filled the air.

"So look at their faces – look at their brothers, their sisters, their fathers. Recognise your own – and take them back!"

Hesitantly, saddened parents stared into the faces of the little ones. Slowly, recognition dawned in men and women alike, and they began to pick up and claim their lost children, hugging and kissing the little ones with tears of joy running down their cheeks.

"This is a wonderful thing you have done, Doctor," Alfred said. "The solstice celebrations can begin at last! Will you join us for the ceremony for the rebirth of the horned god, and share our feast on the night of the Wild Hunt?"

"Thanks, but not my kind of thing, really," the Doctor smiled.

"Then will you help us to rejoice in the glory of the unconquered sun?"

"No – we ought to get going. Really."

"Aha!" Alfred nodded wisely. "Then will you join me, and in Winchester Minster, remember the birth of our Lord Jesus?"

The Doctor shrugged helplessly. "I'd love to, obviously, but to banish the elves completely, I've got to take this witch back to them. Right now."

"The witch. Yes. Ah." Alfred's ability to believe things appeared to have reached overload point. His eyes glazed over and he turned away to call out to the Hall "It is Yule, and all our children are returned! Let us take joy!"

"Guessing that's our cue to leave," Graham said. "while no-one's looking at us."

"Yeah. We'd better get cracking. Though I do love Christmas – specially around these times, when there's just so many overlaid religions fighting for being the reason for the season," said the Doctor. "It's amazing how many impossible and contradictory things humans can believe all at once."

The four of them led the 'witch' out of the Great Hall. Once out of Winchester and away from curious eyes, the Doctor removed its chains.

"Sorry about that, but we had to tell SOME kind of story they'd go for," she said as she dropped the iron links to the snow.

"I still do not fully understand," Parash replied. "How is it they did believe you, anyway?"

"It doesn't even know what effect its scent has on humans!" Yaz murmured to Ryan.

"Dunno. Must just have been something in the air," the Doctor said, winking at her friends.

* * *

The five made swift progress back to the Elf Hill and entered the spaceship. Once inside, the Doctor helped to remove the bandages that had protected the Kartish from Earth's allergens, as well as the gloves that had been impregnated with DNA-rewriting nanogens to restore the golden children to their humanity. "OK," she said at last, "you kept up your end of the bargain."

"We are ashamed," Parash responded, crossing its arms in front of itself. Its two crewmates did likewise. "Once we realised that the human infants were not larvae, but true infants, it became imperative that we try to assist you in restoring them to their - families?"

"Families, yes. Families are very important," the Doctor nodded.

"We still do not understand, however, why we had to reverse the cosmetic enhancements. The children are much uglier as they are."

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," replied the Doctor. "Anyway, my turn now." She faced a wall, and pressed both hands and her forehead against it. Where she touched the metal, it darkened, looking scorched and scarred. "Sorry, my girl," the Doctor muttered, "got to touch you to do this." Golden filaments of energy flickered and rolled across her body like sidewinding snakes of power, surging down her arms and through her hands into the fabric of the spaceship. The lights brightened, and all over the ship, the patches of damage shrank and vanished, like frost forming but in reverse.

The Doctor stepped back with a bright smile, although to Yaz's eyes she looked like she might be exhausted. "All done," she said. "Vital energy, eh? Not something I'm usually short of. It still tastes a bit odd, though. Wonder what the Timelords did to it when they last blasted me with it?"

She shook her head. "Never mind. You lot – " staring intently at the Kartishi. "Get off this world, and never come back. And never, never try that again with alien lifeforms without their explicit, informed consent. Are we clear?"

"Perfectly," Parash responded. "Good fortune, Doctor.

* * *

As Yaz, Ryan, Graham and the Doctor walked through the snow, following the Doctor's guidance as to where the TARDIS was parked, about ten kilometres south east, there was a vast rush of air as the Kartishi spaceship dragged itself free of the snow, and the Earth, and lofted itself into the now clear night sky.

The TARDIS gang stopped and turned for a moment. As the sound of Solstice bells rang out at last, a bright star hovered for a short time over Winchester. Then it shot up into space, dwindling at an astonishing pace, and winked into insignificance against the sparkling expanse of the heavens.


End file.
